


The Journal

by IJM



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IJM/pseuds/IJM
Summary: Cameron finds more than expected when he goes searching for the Real Franco Baldwin.





	The Journal

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit.  
> No implication of ownership.
> 
> I started this before this week's episodes aired, so it's not quite in line with what was on the show. But, that's why it's fan fiction. It's always alternate universe. I'm not dividing into chapters because I find most people who like a story (and I do hope you like it) want it all and want it now.

Cameron Webber knew he should have put the leather-bound journal back where he found it, but he couldn’t make himself stop reading things he knew no eyes were meant to see other than those whose hand had written the words. He had spent the weekend by himself, stuck at home, grounded for taking a trip to Niagara Falls. His mother didn’t believe that being angry that his new stepfather had plead guilty to several murders justified the road-trip with his friends, especially since one of his friends had a seizure while they were out of town and he had a run in with the real serial killer. She told him that while she understood his anger, he had been irresponsible and reckless.

Even now, knowing that the plea was a ruse and that Franco had been working undercover to catch the real killer, he still felt wary. He wondered how she could blindly love someone who could so convincingly lie about murder and act the part of a sociopath. He wondered if there was still a part of Franco that was that person who existed prior to a brain tumor removal. Elizabeth told him they had a lot of things to talk about as a family and that they would discuss everything at the right time.

Cam was not patiently waiting for the time to be deemed right. He felt a sense of urgency that he needed to act upon. To that end, he had decided that he would find out as much about Franco as possible before he came home from his recent stay in the hospital. He had been stabbed, nearly fatally, by the real killer, Ryan Chamberlain.

Cam had gone through Franco’s belongings and not even tried to cover his tracks. He was already grounded. What more could they do? He didn’t know exactly who Franco Baldwin was. There was a brave and heroic side to him. There was the paternal side of him too.

But, since the man was obviously quite adept at lying, Cam was going to find the real Franco. He was going to get into his head. That meant finding his artwork, letters, anything other than what was online. He was determined to find out what Franco as part of the family indicated for him, his brothers, and his mother.

Franco had a reputation as a brilliant artist, and he had had very successful art shows. But Cam wanted to see more of his work, the stuff that the public didn’t see. That’s where he thought he would find Real Franco.

He easily found portfolios, works on canvas that had been stored, and sketch pads, dozens of them. They weren’t hidden, just stored neatly. He was a little disappointed and a little relieved that what he saw were relatively normal things. There was one sketch book devoted to Kiki Jerome—dozens of drawings of the young lady that Franco had considered his daughter. It looked as though he was drawing her so that he would never forget her, maybe so that the world would never forget her. He could tell from those drawings that Franco did love Kiki very much and there was no way he would have ever hurt her. He had captured a sweet, gentle nature in Kiki’s eyes. Cam could see a father’s love in the portraits.

Cam found another book that was filled with pictures of his mother Elizabeth. He quickly put that one back because he was not now and never would be able to handle seeing his mother in the obviously alluring way that Franco did. In fact, peeking into that might have scarred him for life.

Among the portraits, Cam found his brothers, the Webber family, Scott Baldwin who was Franco’s father, and some people he didn’t recognize at all.

However, Franco’s work was not restricted to portraits. He had some abstract work and rather mundane things from everyday life that he somehow had managed to turn into art. Franco could see things that Cam was sure he wouldn’t have ever noticed.

There was a certain flair to his work, a distinct fingerprint of sorts in the strokes he made with whatever medium he was using at the time. Cam really knew nothing about art, but he had to admit what he saw was good work and probably should not have been just sitting in his mother’s large closet collecting dust. There were probably people who would pay good money for these items.

After finding nothing incriminating in the artwork, except maybe an unhealthy obsession with the loss of Kiki, Cam started rifling through the rest of Franco’s belongings. There were some real photographs just thrown into a box. He recognized some of the people, but not all. It was, overwhelmingly, boring. Beside the box, inside the drawer of a nightstand had been this journal. It was a dark brown leather with a strap that kept it closed. It wasn’t exactly locked though… so, fair game, right? Or so Cam had told himself.

He knew he should have put it back, but he didn’t. He just sat on the bed that his mother shared with this man and read the things he had written, starting back in the spring of 2018. Breaks in the handwriting and differences in the ink told him that it had been an ongoing project for Franco. But he didn’t know what it was or how significant it might be when he found it. Franco’s handwriting was immediately recognizable. His penmanship had a distinct and dramatic flair—much like his artwork. It was unlike anyone’s handwriting he had ever seen before. It didn’t look like what he thought of as “guy writing” with small print or “girl writing” with larger, bubbly letters. If Cam’s grandmother had not taught him cursive handwriting, it would have been utterly illegible.

At first, Cam thought it was a memoir. Maybe Franco was writing down his life’s story because he had a level of fame and it might be something others would want to read. Cam was hopeful that this memoir would help him understand his stepfather and why his mother loved him so much. It was the only real key he had. He wanted to know what had been going on in Franco’s mind when he had the tumor, and afterward, and what he really thought of Elizabeth and her kids. But he found more than he had expected, and it was shaking him to his core.

_Kevin said I should write down the things that I can’t bring myself to say. He believes if I put them on paper and express them, that I can get it all out of my head, so it doesn’t consume me. I’m not sure Kevin knows how tightly I can hold onto things that I hid from myself and everyone else, but he has been helpful so far._

_I told Elizabeth about his idea. I asked her if she wanted to read this after I wrote whatever it is that I’m going to write. I don’t know yet what that will be. She said that she didn’t. She doesn’t consider it a secret and she doesn’t think I can write down things I might really need to if I think there is a possibility that I will be scrutinized or judged for whatever comes up at some point down the road. I told her if she ever changes her mind… but she insisted that this was for me. She said it would help, that writing her thoughts had helped her, that she understood, and wouldn’t ever want anyone to read what she had written. So, I guess there’s that. If Kevin and Elizabeth both think this is the thing to do, it must be the thing to do. They comprise half of the list of people I trust. I also am relieved that she won’t be burdened by whatever I write down. The only condemnation I face is from myself._

_So, if I start at the very beginning, then I was born on – I don’t know – to a psychotic woman named Heather Webber, the illegitimate son of Scott Baldwin, who didn’t know I existed until a few years ago. From what I have been able to learn about and from Heather, she was in the habit of selling babies back then and has a very loose relationship with the truth. She sold her first son, Steven Lars. Then she sold me and her cousin Susan Moore’s child, Andrew to our mother Betsy Frank. My birth certificate lists Betsy Frank as my birthmother. So, I know it’s fake. Andrew and I were raised as twins, but his real twin is Jason Morgan. I was led to believe that my birthdate is the same as theirs, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. Does it matter? I’m writing more than I ever thought I would about my non-birthdate because I realized at some point that I know so little about who I am that I can’t even tell you something a five-year-old would know about himself. There are people who find meaning in such things through astrology, which is questionable at best. But at least it’s a way to find meaning somewhere. I guess that’s what I’ve been looking for my whole life. Meaning._

_Being a black-market baby just set the stage for the even more screwed up parts of my life. If there was a contest for crazy ass mothers, Heather wins. She has tried to kill me a couple of times. That I know of. She’s vindictive, cruel, self-serving, manipulative, vicious, and can be very protective and giving. She keeps you guessing—loves you one minute; shoots you the next._

_Betsy has far more redeeming qualities. She is also manipulative and self-serving. She has told so many lies that I’m not exactly sure what is true and false with her either. But she’s never been malicious. Gullible, naïve, blind, and needy, yes. But her heart was in the right place even when she screwed with my head to the point that I didn’t trust anything I thought anymore._

_Betsy wanted me to be safe and happy, but I wasn’t. She wanted me to forget that I wasn’t happy and to that end, she lied… a lot and for a long time. She was scared too and that’s reasonable given her secrets or my secrets._

_Andy and I were best friends. We had that twin bond thing, even if we weren’t really twins. I would have died to protect Andy. There have been times that I wish I had._

_When we were three, Betsy began a serious relationship with a real estate developer named Jim Harvey. May he burn in hell. She fell hard and fast. We had barely met the guy and he was selling our house so we could all move into his much bigger house. Betsy was thrilled because he loved her, and she told us that he loved us too. She convinced us that having a “real family” with a dad would be so much better for us all._

_When we moved into the bigger house on the nicer side of town, Andy and I had separate bedrooms. Uncle Jim, as we had to call him then, insisted we had to grow up and be more independent. The fact was, he wanted to isolate us. He knew what he was doing and why. The rest of us didn’t._

_The first night in that house, I was very tired, but I couldn’t get to sleep. Andy and I had never had separate bedrooms. We had never even had separate beds. It was weird to try to sleep without him right there. I thought about going to his room, but Betsy warned us that we had to be good and mind Uncle Jim. So, I was laying there, wondering if Andy was asleep or if he was awake, wondering if I was asleep._

_Hours went by. Sometime around 1:00 am, Uncle Jim opened the door and asked me in a whisper if I was asleep. I said I wasn’t. He came over to my bed and patted it twice. Always twice. I hate that man. And he sat down. He asked if I was scared to be by myself in a new place and I told him I was. He laughed and said he thought I might be. He asked if I wanted him to lay down with me until I fell asleep. I thought it was okay for him to do that. We used to sleep with Mom in her big bed before Uncle Jim came along anyway. That was normal, right?_

_So, he got under the covers with me and wrapped one arm around me. He told me we were a family. He told me he loved me like a son, and he would always take care of me. He rubbed my arm and hummed. I felt safe. He said it could be our secret because he didn’t want me to be embarrassed if Andy found out I was scared to sleep by myself. Andy was already honing his inner jerk, so I did think he would tease me. He thought he was tough, and I was a sissy because I liked coloring, drawing and was learning to read. We were best friends, but we were very different in temperament and interests. I wish we had grown up together. But Uncle Jim ruined that._

_This became a nightly ritual. Even on nights when I could sleep, he would come in very late (or very early) and pat the bed and wake me up. He said I was special, and no one could know about our secret, special time. I thought it was normal because he said he loved me. He said he was just being my dad. I was upset that he didn’t love Andy as much though. I didn’t want Andy think he was excluded or unloved. But Uncle Jim told me Andy could never, ever know. He said we had a bond and I was his favorite. I didn’t tell Andy or Mom. I didn’t know any better._

_I remember the exact moment that feeling safe and loved changed into something… different. He always rubbed my arm. That was innocuous. It didn’t feel threatening. But he put his hand under my pajama shirt, on my stomach. I felt like something seared into my soul. I can still feel his damn hand on my stomach, and it makes me want to throw up… or crumple into a ball and die. He just left his hand there, skin on skin. I was very uncomfortable. I don’t know why I knew it was bad, but I did. I tried to move away from him. He pulled me back and asked what was wrong. I said I didn’t know. He said I needed to relax. He said he could make me relax. God, I hate that bastard. He slipped his hand lower and started rubbing me. He was rough and it hurt. I was terrified and I didn’t understand why he was doing that. I asked him to stop. I told him it hurt. He just, like, growled at me. I was so upset and so scared I wet the bed—and his hand._

_Oh, that was a mistake. That’s when I met Angry Uncle Jim. Suffice to say, I learned not to make him mad and to not let Andy or mom make him mad. I had to make sure they never made him angry. That became my job. Peacemaker. Letting him think I had done something if one of them made him mad. It was like he knew, like he knew I was taking the blame for whatever atrocity someone else committed. I swear, as an adult looking back on it, he found things to be angry about just so he could punish me. He was always yelling at me, “Look what you’ve done!” or “See what you did now?” or “You’re never going to learn how to be good!” Sometimes Andy would see that I was scared, and he would try to fess up to things he had actually done, but Uncle Jim would tell him that he knew I was the “bad seed.” He knew I was “guilty.”_

_I think Kevin believes if I write down incidents of this abusive relationship, I will find it cathartic. I can’t even find the words to put on paper things that should never be said, or thought, or read, even if it’s just read by me._

_I’m not doing my homework right. Nothing new there. I told myself I hated school, the other kids, and the teachers. The truth is school was the only safe place. They were happy. Or they acted happy. I wasn’t going to act. I knew happiness wasn’t real and I wasn’t going to participate in the foolishness of singing and playing and making friends. After what happened to Andy, I knew I could never have a friend. They might expect to visit my house and that wasn’t safe. The kids didn’t like me because I was antisocial. And I probably was pretty open to letting anyone who approached me know that I thought they were stupid. I didn’t attempt to make friends or join in groups. I did my schoolwork, which always seemed mundane, and that kept me out of trouble. Even when you’re a little antisocial jerk with contempt for the entire world, the teachers let you get by when you make all A’s. I would draw and read. I read all the books in the library, even the encyclopedias. But if another kid got near me, I told them to back off. When they got mean and tried to pick on me, I would sabotage them in ways that couldn’t be detected. I stayed out of trouble and eventually they stopped messing with me because they knew I could get them into trouble without getting my hands dirty. I guess that was the Heather coming out of me. Part of me wanted solitude and isolation. Part of me really wanted to make a friend and have someone I could talk to. But the only way to keep any potential friend safe was to make sure they stayed away from me. I knew if they were my friend, it would be my fault if they got hurt._

_Andy was gone by then. I know that’s good for him. Having Uncle Jim in one of our brains is enough. I missed him so much though. I knew he existed. Mom told me I was just imagining a friend. I didn’t have any real friends, so I guess it made sense to me that Andy was imaginary. She reinforced the idea that he was imaginary by pointing out how creative I was. She would laugh and tell me that I made up all kinds of stories in my mind. That really didn’t serve me or the universe well._

_It is astonishing that after everything he did, Jim Harvey approached me to ask to buy my studio. Was he that brazen or that reckless? Curious? He could have sent a minion. Did he want to know if I remembered him? Did he want me to remember him? I didn’t at first. But I did know from the moment we met that I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. I knew he was a bad man with bad intentions._

_It’s amazing what a mind will do to protect itself. I took everything about Jim Harvey and stuffed it into a tightly sealed vault. Not sealed tightly enough though, since it got out. There’s some relief knowing I was an antisocial little jackass because of him. But I also wonder what I would have been like without him, with Andy. Maybe someone would have cared enough and known me well enough to realize when I got sick. I didn’t know. I had been living in alternate realities for a long time, at least until he went away. There was the one where I had to do everything Uncle Jim wanted. And there was the one where I could just separate my mind from my body and not feel a thing. After being punished for my body reacting in a way that displeased him, I found a way to not be there._

_It was spontaneous. I could mentally check out. I could go through the motions without the emotions in order to survive. He was disgusting, perverted, and cruel. He got pleasure from making me feel pain and shame. He wanted me to react and acknowledge him. He threatened to hurt Andy if I didn’t make it fun for him. So, I had to alter my survival strategy._

_I made two realities. One where I kept Uncle Jim happy. The other was where Mom and Andy were. There was an opaque glass barrier between them that I could go through. It kept Jim away from Andy and my mom. And they couldn’t hear or see what was going on beyond the glass._

_Unfortunately, being able to separate into two realities by the age of three became a factor in making the tumor symptoms worse. My messed-up brain got ALL the wires crossed. I didn’t know what was real or what was right or wrong. I didn’t know if I was even real or a creation of someone’s imagination. I felt like I was in a nightmare that kept getting worse and no one would wake up and let me out._

_I hate what I became and what I did, thinking it was art. I don’t understand that person. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that was real. It’s like a very long hallucination and I was floating through it, a danger to others and to myself. It’s difficult, on this side of the surgery, to reconcile that the person before surgery existed. He did. I have to live with it. I want to do something every day to try to make up for what I did then. I know I can never really make up for anything. But I don’t have to be trapped in that part of my past._

_Now I must burrow my way through this Jim Harvey part of my past. At least he admitted it. Gave me that list of names of other boys he molested. There’s some solace in knowing I’m not crazy or delusional. It’s oddly comforting to know that that kind of darkness was not something that my mind made up. It was real. I guess I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about what he did. I’m just glad to know he did it. That it wasn’t created from within some dark part of me. He’s the darkness. If I had made it up, how much worse of a person would that make me? I would have to cease to exist if I could have created that on my own._

_If there was a God, I would thank him for Elizabeth. I love her with every breath and every heartbeat. I want to devote my life to making her happy and making sure that her kids are taken care of. She’s worked so hard and done so much alone to raise those boys. I didn’t know that mothers like her actually exist outside of 1970’s sitcoms. I hope one day the kids realize how lucky they are to have a mom who has supported them and kept them safe. I hope they never, ever learn about how awful humans can be toward each other or how little a child can mean to an adult. I want to help Elizabeth keep them safe from that reality. The passage of time makes it an unachievable goal, but the harder we work on it, the longer we can keep them safe._

“Cameron Webber!”

Cam dropped the journal when he heard his mother yell his name. She was standing in the bedroom door with Franco who was leaning on a cane and looked like he had been through hell. Cam had been listening to music with his ear buds and so absorbed in the journal, he had not realized anyone had come into the house.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Elizabeth asked. “Why have you scattered all this stuff all over the room?”

Cam stood up and stammered something about wanting to make sure they were safe.

“Franco is not a threat to you or anyone else!” Elizabeth told him in a hushed, seething tone. “You had no right to go through his work or his belongings. And get off the bed, he needs to rest.”

“It’s okay,” Franco told her. His voice was soft, restrained.

“No. If he had questions, he should have spoken to us directly. I told him we were going to discuss everything.”

Cam got off the bed and pulled back the covers, thinking maybe if he helped Franco, who really did look pained, get into bed to rest that his mother might be more forgiving. “Do you need another pillow?” he asked, realizing he sounded awkward.

Franco approached him and glanced at the floor where the journal was laying, splayed open. Cam had not read the entire thing, but he had made a dent in it. He reached down to pick it up.

“No,” Elizabeth reminded him. “No bending, no lifting for two weeks unless it’s part of your PT. Get in bed, lay still, and breathe.” She bent down to pick up the thing on the floor.

She held it in her hand and looked at Franco and at Cam. “How could you?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t angry. It was disappointed, which was even worse. She closed the journal and wrapped the strap around it and gave it back to her husband who was sitting on the side of the bed.

“No point in strapping it closed now,” he muttered, taking the journal and throwing it onto the bed beside him. His movements were stiff because he was in pain. He had had therapy before leaving the hospital.

“I…” Cam stuttered. “I didn’t mean to. I mean, I didn’t realize… I thought it was a memoir.”

“I’ll put everything back,” Cam said. He blushed with embarrassment.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Franco asked.

Cam wasn’t sure how to read him. He thought that Franco should be angry that he had read the journal and gone through his stuff. His mother certainly was.

“What were you looking for?” Elizabeth asked.

“He was trying to find out who I am.” Franco answered her.

She looked back at him, puzzled by what he said.

“He doesn’t know if I’m the psycho in the interview or the guy who bakes cookies with Aiden.”

Elizabeth’s anger was not assuaged. “Even if that is true, you had no right. You should have waited to talk to us.”

“Cam, I was working undercover, not because I wanted to, but because I was forced to. Jordan Ashford knew I was being framed and she wanted me to bait the real killer. It worked.” He laid down and straightened the covers.

“But why didn’t you tell us?”

Franco sighed, tired of this conversation, tired of repeating Jordan’s plan to everyone who had ever cared about him and a lot of people who had not. He was just tired. “I wasn’t given the option. I tried.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to even see Cam.

Elizabeth looked back to her eldest son, waiting for him to respond.

“I’m sorry I went through your stuff. I’m sorry I read the journal.”

“I doubt that,” Franco responded.

Cam was taken aback. Franco had always been very receptive to any apology he had made and forgiving of his mistakes. “I am,” he said without confidence.

 “Do you want me to go away? Do you think I’m going to morph into someone like… him?”

“No! God, no! I know you’re not like… him.”

Elizabeth was very troubled by the exchange. She believed Cam wasn’t afraid of Franco. But would Franco believe it? Franco wasn’t even looking at them anymore, either of them. She couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional pain that was making him shut them out.

“You need to go to your room or go downstairs,” she told Cam. “He’s been through major surgery and he needs to recover without this stress.”

“I’m sorry,” Cam repeated.

Elizabeth guided her stammering teenager out of the bedroom. “I’ll talk to you once he’s asleep. We have to discuss this.” Her voice was soft. She didn’t want Franco to overhear her.

Elizabeth went back to her husband. “I’m sorry. He knows that snooping like this is wrong.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Franco told her softly. “He’s scared, upset, confused.”

“But that,” she nodded toward the journal and put her hand on his chest. “I don’t know how to handle him reading that.”

“You don’t have to,” Franco put his hand over hers, looking at the gold bands on both of their hands. “It would probably be best to start with you reading it.”

“No, I said I never would. I promised.”

“I promised a lot of things too. Sometimes we face circumstances that make us break promises.” He touched her cheek. “The priority is Cam. I think he’ll probably have questions. You don’t have to read it. But it might give you an advantage when we answer his questions. But only if you want to.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, I am. After I talked to Pops about the conversation with Jordan, I see that I had a choice that I didn’t see was there when she told me this was the only way to be free, the only way to clear my name, the only way to catch Kiki’s killer.”

“She is a horrible human being,” Elizabeth said, anger clear in her tone. “A horrible, despicable, unethical, dishonorable…”

“Bitch.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I’m so angry with her for how she manipulated you, put you in danger, wouldn’t let you even talk to me or your dad. I’m taking her down. Once she’s got that new kidney, I’m probably going to make sure she needs a new heart because I might rip hers right out of her chest.”

Franco laughed.

“What? You don’t think I could do it?”

“I know you could do it. You have possession of my heart. But I like the image of you all feisty and going Mama Bear over me. It makes me feel loved.”

Elizabeth kissed him. “You are loved. So loved.”

“You are too.”

“You are also tired and in pain. I can tell by your eyes and the lack of color in your face. You’re ghostly.”

“I think you mean ghastly,” he joked. He had been looking rough the last few days.

“You’re the most handsome man in the world.”

“You’ve been taking my happy pills,” Franco accused her playfully, holding onto her hand.  

Elizabeth got up, letting her hand linger in his for a moment. “Speaking of the happy pills, you need to take your medicine and you need to do exactly what I said. Lay there and breathe until time for PT. Don’t strain the incisions.  Your wound was very deep.”

He nodded. “You know you don’t have to address this with Cam. We can put it off until we can both talk with him. If you want to bring him in here, we can do it now.”

She shook her head. “You need rest, not stress.”

“I’m not abandoning you to deal with the consequences of what I did on your own.”

“I don’t feel abandoned. You’re the only man, the only person, who has ever stood by me no matter what.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“Yeah, honey, it does. You may not know that, but you make my life a lot easier.”

“You must have had one hell of a ride before I got here.”

Elizabeth just laughed. “Go to sleep.”

After giving herself time to consider the situation, Elizabeth decided that Franco was on point. She did not have to talk to Cam by herself. That was part of what having a husband, a partner in life, meant. She told Cam they would talk as a family and that’s what she was going to stick to doing. She thought it might make him realize his actions have consequences if he had to stew about what he had done for a while.

She went downstairs to cook. Jake and Aiden had been staying with the Quartermaines and their driver was bringing them home. Monica had been very gracious about the situation. She accepted that Drew and Franco were close. Even though she had briefly fired Franco after his arrest, his position had been reinstated once the truth of the undercover operation was detailed in a statement from the police department.

Cam came downstairs soon after Elizabeth. “Well, let me have it,” he said, bracing himself.

“I don’t have anything to say right now,” Elizabeth told him.

‘You were just furious with me.”

“I told you we will discuss things as a family and that’s what we’re going to do. That means Franco is part of the conversation because he’s part of this family.”

“I know that, Mom,” Cam was trying to sound apologetic. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have—”

Elizabeth held up one hand, signaling him to stop. She shook her head. “We’re not discussing this right now.”

“But I don’t know what to say to Franco.”

“You’re old enough to delve into things that you shouldn’t. So, you’re old enough to find your way out.”

“You’re, like, really mad, aren’t you?”

“No,” Elizabeth answered. She looked for some items and put a few things on to cook.

Cam didn’t find her tone believable. “You sound mad.”

“I’m disappointed. I’m tired. It’s been very stressful recently. You created more stress with what you did. But we’ll get through it because that’s what we always do.”

“That Jim Harvey guy was awful.”

“I know.”

“And Franco has two really crazy mothers.”

“I know.”

“And when he had the brain tumor, he couldn’t decipher reality.”

“I know.”

“And he feels really bad about all the bad things he did.”

“I know.”

“And he loves you and us.”

“I know.”

“You’re not really saying anything.”

Elizabeth gave him a MOM look.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it as a family.” Cameron turned and went back to his room. When he got there, he saw that the door to his mother’s bedroom was still open just a bit. He peeked inside. “Franco?” he called. Cam was impatient. He felt like he had to face this as soon as possible

Franco responded with a grunt that let him know he was awake.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” He opened his eyes and tried to adjust his pillows so that he could sit up.

“Here, let me help,” Cam insisted. Franco wasn’t presently in a state to deny help from anyone.

Franco leaned back, his eyes closed. “Talk."

Cameron was uncomfortable, admitting what he did. “I went through your stuff.”

“I noticed.”

“I just wanted to know that you won’t hurt my mom or brothers. I mean, that interview. You were… scary.”

“Do you think I’ll get an Emmy?”

“A what?”

“Never mind. It was an act.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you really know for sure. Any doubts? Anything we need to clear up?”

Cam was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry. I should have stopped reading what you wrote.”

“It’s a real page-turner, huh?”

“I had no idea. You know, about when you were a kid.”

Franco sighed.

“Are you mad?”

He shook his head.

“Shouldn’t you be?” Cam asked.

“I’m ashamed.”

The response hit Cam very hard. “No. That’s not right.” Franco’s “ashamed” was even worse than his mother’s “disappointed.” He had no idea he would long for the days of just making his parents angry.

Franco shrugged. He was deeply ashamed of what Cam had read. He didn’t know any words he could use to convey exactly what he meant.

“That’s not how you should feel.” Cam told him. “I mean, it’s just not.” He was upset because he could tell Franco was emotional but trying to hide it. “Why are you ashamed? You didn’t do anything wrong. You protected your mother and your brother.” Cam realized what he said was just making this worse because now Franco was blinking which meant he was trying to fight back tears.

“Stop that!” Cameron ordered. “You can’t do that to yourself. You’re blaming yourself. Didn’t you read what you wrote? You never had a chance to be normal. What kind of woman sells her children? Or buys her children? Your mothers were nuts! And Betsy… how could she not know what was going on? It wasn’t your job to protect her. It was her job to protect you. My mom would never let something like that happen to me or Jake or Aiden. And, if it did, she’d kill whoever did it.” Cam stopped for moment as he had an epiphany. “Wait.”

Franco briefly glanced at him.

“Wait. That’s exactly right. Mom wouldn’t let anyone hurt us. Ever. I should have trusted her. I should have trusted you. I know you’re not a bad guy. You’re… like me. You wanted to protect your mom and your brother. Only you didn’t act like a stupid teenager because you were too young to be a stupid teenager.”

Cam seemed to be having an awakening of sorts. “You were… you were younger than Danny or Avery. That’s sick. That man was sick. How are you even alive? I think I would have died, like literally died.”

“Two realities,” Franco answered. “I couldn’t be in both at the same time.”

“That’s really, really….”

“Messy.”

“Complicated.”

“Cam,” Franco started.

Cam knew he had a request. “What?”

“Don’t think about that kid in my journal when you look at me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can’t,” Franco took a deep breath, grimacing. “I don’t want you to think about that. It’s not your problem. It’s not something that can be fixed. It’s there and it is part of who I am, but only part. I want to focus on this family. This family is why I’m alive because I love your mother and Jake and Aiden and you.”

“I love you too,” Cameron told him, and he hugged him. “You’re the best dad I’ve had. The bravest. The smartest. The weirdest.”

Franco held back a laugh.

“It’s a compliment. You know how to have fun and be stupid with Jake and Aiden to make them feel good about themselves.”

“What about you?”

“Me too.”

“Dinner is ready,” Elizabeth said from the doorway. She had been standing there for a while. She was happy Cameron had gone to talk to Franco. They really needed this conversation without a mediator. Cam would have gone into a conversation with them both thinking they were against him and he would have been much more defensive. Also, she had married this man. She had to let him be a co-parent because the kids were part of the package. “Did you two figure things out?”

“Yeah,” Cam nodded. “Mon, don’t let this one go.”

Elizabeth smiled. She looked at Franco who met her eyes with his. “This one doesn’t want to go. That makes a world of difference.”

 

  * End



 

 

 

 

 

 


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